About Me

Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Spider Tracks...

I’ve
had a tag-along ride to work with me every morning this week. And he
returns home with me, too. And I think the seven miles each way clipping
along at 30 miles per hour must be pretty taxing for the little fella,
but, yet, each morning, he's there, waiting for me to take off.

A
spider has claimed the truck’s outside mirror and driver’s door as his
domain. He doesn’t bother me, even though he is a spider, because he
hunkers down and hides behind the mirror when I open the door.

His
web takes a serious beating from the wind. As does he. At 30 MPH that
web is jumping and he's hanging on for dear life. Not pretty at all and I
kept expecting to see him flung from his super strong web into certain
death. But he hangs on, day after day. He’s either an adrenaline junkie,
thinks he scores better hot, fast food than the average spider, doesn’t
know any better, or refuses to consider that there are safer yet
infinitely more satisfying ways to live life. Or maybe it is that insanity thing I
already mentioned. The definition of insanity? Doing the same things and
expecting different results. (That’s the socially functional insane,
the others are varied and nasty and we don’t want to meet them in dark
alleys…spider or otherwise…shudder.)

Why
would a spider continue rebuilding a web on an object that randomly
takes off at high speeds? Any bug that manages to hit the web at 30 MPH
is likely going to put a big hole through the web. Maybe the spider
wants to work on his catching arm? But even then, there are better, less
dangerous ways to do that, too.

I don't know whether to admire him for his perseverance or place him in an inpatient facility.

Oddly,
he may remind me of people I know, a category to which I might belong.
Sometimes we are stubborn to an insane level, aren't we? Why would I let
the crazy windstorms buffet me, wreck my peace and rattle my brain when
it might be an issue I could just let go of? How about clinging to
insecurity or beliefs about who I am and what I have to offer the world,
even when others tell me I'm crazy to hang onto the two or three
comments that made me believe I have no worth in an area. Or refusing to
forgive someone until they say the right words from the script I've
written and keep hidden in my heart. Or bitterness over
__________________________________________ (fill in the blank). Or
refusing to live this big, amazing life until I complete
___________________________ (fill in the blank).

After
I arrived at work yesterday I found out a fatality happened in an area
where & and I regularly walk the dogs. A woman went out to take her
early morning walk, another was headed somewhere in her car. The sun was
rising, bright and blinding, and a fatal connection was made. Two
lives changed in a heartbeat, two women who probably didn't wake up and say, "Today, my life
will be forever altered." as they crossed the threshold into their
futures. They likely just went about their business, not knowing what
the next minute might hold.

I
want to take lessons from these two very different scenarios.
Perseverance is a thing of beauty when you are talking about Olympic
athletes, choosing to do the difficult things to make a better life,
sticking out a relationship that is a commitment and maybe a little
bogged down but not poisonous. But stubbornness might very well be
insanity in disguise.

And,
I have no promises that tomorrow is mine, that it will be beautiful,
that I will be able to see the sun set. If tomorrow was my last day on
earth, what would I want it to look like? What would I want to leave
behind in the hearts, minds and souls of those who knew me? Do I know
what happens to the essence of me after I die? Do I have an emotional
or relational list that I will leave unfinished, incomplete, or torn to
shreds? And am I okay with all my answers to those questions?